


Wetworks

by otherwiseestella



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Bladder Control, Bottom Harry Hart, Breakfast, Consensual Kink, Desperation, Desperation Play, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Embarrassed Eggsy, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Kink Negotiation, Kink disclosure, Light BDSM, Masturbation, Merlin loves data, Multi, Omorashi, Oral Sex, POV Eggsy Unwin, POV Merlin (Kingsman), Pee, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Voyeurism, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17694665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherwiseestella/pseuds/otherwiseestella
Summary: ‘Merlin, I’m gonna need a favour. And – and don’t turn the cameras on.’ Eggsy’s out of breath, sounds strained.‘Eggsy, this had better be good.’‘It's not great, guv, if I’m honest.’Another pause, a fraction of a second, and Merlin can hear Eggsy’s dry swallow at the other end of the line.‘How ‘d’you get piss out a velvet sofa?’***One night, Merlin discovers that Eggsy has a very particular kink, one that he's been trying to keep a secret. He's interested, and he thinks Harry might be, too.What follows is a beautifully flustered Eggsy, a delighted Harry, and a lot of excellent new information for Merlin to process.***There isn't much pee fic in the Kingsman fandom - so this is my attempt to help with that lack!





	1. The Velvet Sofa

**Author's Note:**

> *This kink isn't for everyone, so please heed the warnings and don't read if it squicks you!*
> 
> Also, comments, kudos, anything would be lovely - people are so often shy about commenting on ws fics, but comments keep me going, so do please come and join me on this joyous and dirty train.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

Merlin’s logging off, has just walked Percival through the arse-end of the worst mission they’ve had in years when he hears the chirrup, sees the connection request in the left-hand corner of his right lens.

‘Gawain.’

‘Merlin, I’m gonna need a favour. And – and don’t turn the cameras on.’

Eggsy’s out of breath, sounds strained enough that Merlin immediately brings up his coordinates. He’s on downtime – got back from Tokyo late last night, but the catch in his voice is enough to make Merlin flick his attention to the location tracker.

He’s at home. Merlin’s hand reaches for the camera feed, but he holds himself back.

‘Eggsy, this had better be good.’

‘It’s not great, guv, if I’m honest.’

There’s a pause. Merlin’s patience will get him a sainthood, but he’s been online for twenty-one hours whilst Percival guffed up rendezvous after rendezvous because it turned out their intel was not only bad, it was actively fucking harmful.

Now he’s got the job of going down to Remote Recon and handing them their bollocks on a plate. And Harry’s en route from the Arctic, but the plane’s been grounded while a blizzard sweeps over and honestly, he’s not in the mood.

‘Spill it.’

Another pause, a fraction of a second, and Merlin can hear Eggsy’s dry swallow at the other end of the line.

‘How ‘d’you get piss out a velvet sofa?’

The question is so absurd that it just hangs in Merlin’s brain for a second, refusing to clarify into meaning.

When it coalesces, Merlin, who is so tired that he can still hear Percival’s gunshots when he knows they aren’t in his ears anymore, lets out a laugh so loud that it startles him, there in the silence of his office.

‘Fuck’s sake, it ain’t funny, Harry’s gonna kill me.’

Merlin tries, really tries, to swallow his laughter but when he speaks there’s a thready giggle that winds its way out of his throat. ‘There’s pet spray in the cupboard under the sink.’

He can imagine Harry’s face, a caricature of horror at JB’s misdemeanour. The sofa – slate grey, the velvet close and dense – ranks particularly highly in Harry’s personal index of both comfort and ludicrous luxury, and Merlin has watched him run his hands over the soft pile on nights when he’s tired and thinks nobody is looking. Watched him rub more than that over it, but that’s not the….

‘And that would work for… any piss?’

There’s a note in Eggsy’s voice that makes Merlin’s stomach drop three floors down. He feels his cock give a significant throb of interest, and he’s absolutely not going to attend to that right now. For a start, the data set is too small.

When he speaks, however, he is all cool professionalism. ‘It’ll work fine. Might require repeat applications.’

‘And it’ll be dry by…’

‘Galahad’s transport has been delayed significantly due to adverse weather, Gawain, so yes.’

He is curt. Professional. Detached. An email pops up on screen – Percival in the safe house, glass raised in toast. A whisky is beginning to seem like a truly excellent idea.

‘Thanks, Merlin.’ There’s a note in his voice, a grateful acknowledgement that Merlin hasn’t looked, hasn’t switched to video feed, hasn’t exercised the power that sits absolutely, eternally at his fingertips.

‘Goodnight, Gawain.’ There’s no point in Eggsy waiting up, he’s going to be at HQ for hours longer, fixing a route out of Bogota for Percival, making the fucking clowns who briefed this mission absolutely sweat. Not to mention his inbox, which is making his brain hurt. Plenty to be getting on with.

Twenty minutes later, he finds himself with his phone in his hand.

_[Are you unwell?]_

He hits send without thinking too much about why he’s seeking clarification.

There’s a soft ping almost instantly. _[Nah. Why?]_ The text is accompanied by a string of medically themed emoji, including a small blood-filled syringe, which Merlin finds vaguely interesting.

Before he can reply, the typing ellipses pulse, and then –

_[Shit fucking shit you fucking prick]_

That message is followed by a string of expletives so varied and elegant that Merlin wonders briefly if he’d had them saved as a draft, and then –

_[Please don’t tell Harry.]_

Merlin isn’t sure if it's the hour, or the fact he hasn’t slept in days, or the ambient web of adrenaline that threads its way through his veins after walking an agent through a mission as messy and dangerous as Percival’s, but he types the message, sends it, and slips his phone into his pocket before he can think twice about it.

_[I won’t. But you will speak to me.]_

He doesn’t think about Harry, a crowded bar in Berlin in 1983, men in heavy leather and vinyl so slick you could see your face in it, the way the line of his suit had been ruined when they stumbled across that room on the ground floor.

His phone pings again, but he’s already halfway down the corridor to Remote Recon, his body starting to process tiredness as cold. That particular problem can wait until he gets home.

As he sits on the bullet train he wonders if Eggsy knows, really knows, the power that he has, the molecular obsessiveness of his watching, the reams and reams of footage – more than twenty years on Harry, and now a year on Eggsy – both on hard drives and in his head. He likes watching. He likes watching closely.

In the car, he thinks about the moments that could be formed into a pattern. He’s never formalised them, there’s no actual literal folder, though he could have one compiled in seconds – the washing machine on at odd hours, Eggsy’s insistence on sleeping at HQ sometimes, on nights when neither Harry nor Merlin are at home.

The way his eyes had widened, fractionally, one night when they were sitting in Merlin’s office as he walked Harry through a mission and Harry, hidden in a cupboard for hours, had hissed ‘Merlin, if you don’t create a distraction soon I’m going piss myself’.

He’s held off prying for some reason, refrained from pushing those buttons any harder. He could have Eggsy’s search history in seconds, but whereas Harry blushes, pink and sweet, when Merlin whispers all the filthy things he’s been looking up back at him, he’s always worried about pushing Eggsy too far. Harry has, after all, had decades to get used to Merlin’s constant presence.

The house is dark when he arrives – it is gone two in the morning, and even the birds are silent. The air feels heavy, velvet soft, and he stands outside for a second and just breathes.

Usually, he’d feel his way round the house by touch, make a cup of tea, make a decision about sleeping arrangements. He doesn’t share with Eggsy usually, if Harry isn’t there. Prefers the spare bed, clean and cool, rather than Eggsy’s starfished heat. But tonight he turns a lamp on in the living room, checks by its dim glow that Eggsy’s done a good enough job on the grey velvet. The spot is almost dry, only the faint outlines still damp. He ignores the way his face heats at the size and spread of it.

He isn’t quiet as he walks upstairs, washes in the bathroom, rinses and spits.  
There’s no low light from the bedroom but the door is ajar, and as he pauses to listen he hears Eggsy’s murmur.

‘Merlin?’

He wants to wake him up, haul him out of the soft duvet and down the stairs. Realises, with a pang, that he wants to _rub his face in it_ , until the damp velvet gives him a rash. Feels a vague wash of revulsion at the image, which makes it no less interesting.

‘Get some sleep, boy.’

Let him stew a while longer.


	2. The Breakfast Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eggsy wakes up, and conversations are had...  
> (Ah, kink disclosure, my very favourite thing.)

Eggsy’s up before six the next morning, all silence on the stairs like he’s on mission, making sure the stain’s gone. Merlin’s already at the kitchen table, cup of tea in one hand, tablet propped comfortably against the full coffee pot. He waits until Eggsy’s almost at the living room door before he calls, and the way that Eggsy’s head snaps back and he almost jumps out of his skin is infinitely satisfying.

‘You tryna’ ruin me?’

‘Good morning to you to, Eggsy. Coffee?’

‘Yeah, ta.’ It’s out of his mouth before he realises that what Merlin actually means is coffee with him at the breakfast bar, not coffee stolen and skulked up to bed with, and the look on his face as he realises is something to behold.

He rolls his shoulders, and when he meets Merlin’s eyes he’s already colouring, high on his cheeks. He swallows, once, and then turns the full force of his attention on Merlin like he’s about to face a firing squad.

‘Let’s get this over with, then, yeah?’

‘Get what over with?’ Merlin’s voice is sweet as honey.

‘The bit where you ask me twenty fucking questions about me pissing myself, an’ I make you promise on your life not to tell Harry I’m a disgusting fucking pervert so he won’t kick me out.’

He sounds genuinely morose, his face fully flaming now, his eyes down in embarrassment.

Merlin makes a little sound in the back of his throat. Thoughtful. Assessing. Not entirely disapproving.

‘And how long have you had this little…fetish?’ This time, his voice is fractionally softer.

He could pretend he can’t see the slight twitch in Eggsy’s trousers. Should, probably, out of a sense of decorum and because he finds that he himself isn’t entirely sure where this is going.

Eggsy has one hand twisting the bottom of his t-shirt and well, isn’t that a tell.

‘Its not a … fetish, whatever. Just a thing, innit. Reckon I’ve always…’ He groans, frustrated.

‘Merlin, I’ve seen in that box of yours and Harry’s, you’re proper fucking filthy. Them electric rods? Not even sure they’re legal. So don’t pretend like you don’t… it fucking feels good, yeah? That’s all.’

He knows it runs against every single possible ethical code he can imagine, but all Merlin can think about in the moment is how pleased he is that he’s recording this, so he can play it back at half-speed and watch Eggsy’s ears pink.

‘And you thought it was appropriate to indulge that here? In this house, where either of us could have walked in at any time?’ He keeps his voice level, a little of the exasperated tone he uses on new recruits colouring it. He suspects, but isn’t sure yet, wants to know…

Eggsy squirms. ‘Knew you was both away, innit.’

But there’s a sigh there, something about the twist in his mouth that makes Merlin wonder. ‘And I didn’t want to – it were an accident, Merlin, honest. Thought I was gonna get away with it, just blow my load and then get to the bathroom before…’

‘But you misjudged, didn’t you?’ Merlin lets the heat that is winding like smoke in the pit of his stomach trace into his voice. ‘You were too desperate to control yourself after you finished, and you pissed all over the sofa, didn’t you? How long had you been holding it for?’

And if there’s any disinterest in his tone, it must fade out by the end of the question, because Eggsy suddenly looks up at him, his face briefly clouding in confusion at this apparent _volte face_ , his lips red where he can’t stop nervously licking over them.

‘Seven hours. And like, three or four pints of water. And a full fat coke, and a pot of coffee.’ He raises an eyebrow, as if testing the waters. ‘Pissed like a fucking waterfall, Merlin. Almost better than jizzing, to be honest.’

‘And you’ve indulged in this often?’

‘Not a lot to do round my ends, bruv.’ He smirks then, like he’s suddenly sure of something he only suspected.

‘Plus’, he adds, the heat fading out of his voice for a second, ‘sometimes best to stay put.’

Merlin has a flash of it, just for a second, the virtue made of necessity, Dean in the flat and him too – frightened, possibly – to do anything but stay in his bedroom, achingly desperate. That image shouldn’t make heat flare in his belly. Shouldn’t make him want to watch.

‘And since joining Kingsman?’

‘Housekeeping are very understanding, ain’t they? And it's not like I don’t do it in the bathroom. It’s just…’ he sounds uncertain again, and although Merlin is tempted to tamp it down, he lets a little of the heat show in his eyes, until Eggsy gets the nerve to keep going. ‘Good way of lettin’ off steam. Not gonna force it on anyone, yeah? It's just… private.’

‘Private. I see. Until you phoned me.’

It’s then that Eggsy’s chin juts, and he tips his head up to meet Merlin’s with that absolutely shit-eating grin he gets, sometimes.

‘Not like anything’s secret from you anyway, is it guv? You watched that footage yet? Because I will not lie, it is fuckin’ glorious.’

Merlin raises his eyebrows. ‘Beyond the sensation, is there anything in particular you enjoy?’

Eggsy is quiet. Eyes up, still, biting his lip. He seems to be very genuinely considering the question, and Merlin can’t help but let his eyes drift to his crotch as he does so. He’s definitely half-hard, now.

‘Not a fuckin’ clue. Talkin’ about it, maybe? Like now? Never had much chance to, before.’

And the way that he’s ashamed of that, of all the things currently on the table, is what tips Merlin towards a decision. That, and the quiet ping of a text onto the tablet.

_[Landed safely and en route. Don’t let E eat all the bacon. xx]_

‘Harry’s on his way back, now, and look at the state of you.’

‘Yeah, like he’s gonna have any complaints if I’m half-hard in his kitchen.’

Merlin stays quiet.

Then he catches on, and Eggsy’s face twists into nervousness. ‘I can stop, Merlin. Swear down. Like the cigarettes. If it would make Harry… if there’s gonna be – don’t want to be a bother, upset him.’

And he sounds so torn up about it, crestfallen and sad, that Merlin actually lifts his hand across the breakfast bar and tips Eggsy’s chin up. He doesn’t startle at the contact, but it's a close thing.

‘Somehow, Eggsy’, he says thoughtfully, ‘I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.’

The sound that rips out of Eggsy’s throat is liquid in its lust.

‘We gonna like, sit here and talk about it, or should I just…?’ And he gestures, the little shit, toward the full cafetiere.

‘He’ll want some food. Sleep, maybe. Debrief forms.’

‘Yeah, s’pose.’

‘…so it might be a long wait. And you’re not to say a fucking word about it until he’s got everything he needs, understand me?’

‘Yes, Merlin.’ His voice is all velvet.

And when he hands him a cup of half-cold coffee, Eggsy looks at Merlin like he hung the fucking moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for keeping reading - this has grown a little in the telling, so there's now going to be another chapter. As ever, please do comment if you enjoyed.


	3. The Hallway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry finally gets home, Merlin is a little interested, and Eggsy starts to get desperate.
> 
> 'Eggsy proper wishes he hadn’t had that coffee, hadn’t been so quick off the fucking mark because now he’s fucking bursting, and Harry ain’t even had breakfast yet.'

Eggsy proper wishes he hadn’t had that coffee, hadn’t been so quick off the fucking mark because now he’s fucking bursting, and Harry ain’t even had breakfast yet.

So here he is, twitching by the breakfast bar, fiddling with the toast rack and trying to think of casual chat that isn’t ‘think I’m gonna piss myself, Harry, and I hear you’re into that’.

Jesus, he’s glad Harry’s home though.

Doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to way Harry looks when he comes back off mission. Once that door’s shut he leans, sometimes, lets his shoulder blades just touch the dark wood and Eggsy wonders if it’s a tiny prayer, thanks that he got home this time.

Eggsy would do the whole rosary, what-fucking-ever, of thanks. Can’t believe it, every single time that door closes, that Harry is back, and he’s there, and he gets to touch him.

When he gets through the door, Harry kisses into Eggsy’s mouth like he’s been gone years, moans when Eggsy brings his arms up, holds Harry’s shoulders down to press the height out of him, kiss into his mouth like he’s licking into his hole.

‘How was the flight?’ Merlin calls from the kitchen. ‘Sounded like a royal cock-up, just that wee plane available.’

Harry breaks the kiss, snuffles his nose into Eggsy’s neck, kisses him there, too, before answering.

‘Absolutely bloody appalling. American end, though – something about research budgets.’

And then Merlin’s there, by their side in the hall, one arm snaking round Harry’s back, the other hand coming up to loosen his tie.

‘Glad you’re home,’ and he nudges Eggsy to move his head a feather to the left as he leans in, so that’s he’s almost part of the kiss, Merlin firm and Harry aching with it, so close he can hear the press of lips and touch of tongues. 

Then he brings his hand further round, touches Eggsy’s back, and brings him in. It’s like letting a car’s engine bloom down a straight stretch of road, the three of ‘em, kissing. Rare and gutsy and makes your blood sing. 

Eggsy can barely kiss for grinning.

And then Harry’s up the stairs to change.

‘Stop mooning’, Merlin says, beckoning him back into the kitchen, ‘give me a hand with the sausages – are you wanting black pudding?’ 

And it’s bloody great hearing him up there, the floorboards creaking. He’s so far gone, even just thinking about Harry in another room makes his cock twitch these days, Jesus.

He reaches past Merlin for the teapot, bumps his stomach against his side, and it’s then that he realises. 

‘Fuck me’, he mutters, not meaning it to slip out, and just like that Merlin’s got his full attention on him.

‘Thought you were a bit quick on the get-go.’

And the bastard grins at him like it’s funny. But Eggsy can feel the push of his bladder now, can feel the start of that constant little ache that fires messages up to his brain. Drank a lot, Eggsy, didn’t you? God you’re full now. Wouldn’t it be nice to just nip to the loo, have a little piss, let some of that pressure out? He can feel himself biting his lip. 

The throb isn’t bad – this stage, it’s more of a suggestion than anything else, and standing up it’s basically ok, just very much there, that little thread of need, and he knows that it’s only going to build. And that little voice whispers to him, reminds him how obscene this is, how dirty. Padding about, barely dressed, cock warm and soft, nudging against his thigh, nothing on but trackies and a t-shirt, and fuckin’ hell, wouldn’t they piss up pretty if he lost his control?

Merlin steps in close then, right up into his space so he’s got to raise his chin if he wants to keep his eyes on him. Merlin’s never this close, but Eggsy reckons his need does something to him, makes him want more information.

‘Eggsy’, he says, quiet in the kitchen. Above them, the sound of the bathroom door closing. And then Merlin, because he’s a fucking prick and a fucking genius all run into one package, slips his hand up under Eggsy’s t-shirt and presses. 

Actually presses, hand big and warm and safe-feeling, like home, and Eggsy’s not gonna think about what that means – which is easy when Merlin’s got the shitting heel of his hand firm down onto Eggsy’s bladder and the spike of urgency is so hot and hard he swears he can feel it behind his fucking eyes.

‘You’re gonna drink a pint of water now’, Merlin tells him, and yeah that’s a command, his tone strictly non-negotiable, and it shouldn’t make his cock twitch, the thought of Merlin feeling his fullness and choosing to fill him further, until he’s bursting, until he lets go.

‘You sure about this?’ he asks, and it’s Merlin, innit, so of course he pulls away, lets Eggsy look down and see how fucking hard he is. Of course he does.

‘If you could go anywhere, right now, where would it be?’ Merlin asks him, soft and casual, like he’s offering him a lift into town. ‘Where would you like to wet yourself?’

Wet yourself. Fuckin’ hell.

Eggsy always frames it in his head as pissing, yeah, because at least it sounds – bodily, animal, like it ain’t his fucking fault, like a natural act. But here’s Merlin and it’s ’wet himself’ and that sounds like choosing, sounds like the decision to let go and stop worrying and feel that bright heat and then the hot licks of piss down his thighs and… Christ, he wants to do it, wants to do it Merlin’s way, let himself be naughty, deliberately let himself go, soil himself somewhere in Harry’s pretty, fussy house.

He tries to answer but his voice is already hoarse with want and it comes out like a raspy whisper. ‘Stairs. All like, spread out. Reckon it’d make a nice mess on them cream carpets, innit.’

Because two can play at that game, and he gets to enjoy the way Merlin’s mouth falls open just a fraction. 

‘Eggsy, bloody hell’, he manages, and then Harry’s footsteps are on the stairs.

Eggsy reckons he’s going to let Merlin deal with telling Harry. Not because he can’t, or because he’s scared, but because twenty years of marriage between them, they’ve got this down.

And because, honestly, the way he cocks an eyebrow at him just before Harry steps through the door reminds him just how in charge Merlin actually is. He shuts up, leans against the counter to pop the toaster down, and brings his pint glass to his lips.

*

Breakfast passes quietly, mostly. Merlin’s on his laptop and Harry’s busy eating, and catching up on the cricket scores he missed the day before.

‘No, the department won’t be sending you hourly updates, not when you’re in a combat zone. It’s just the bloody cricket.’

‘Piss off’, Harry says sweetly, and butters another slice of toast.

Eggsy volunteers to load the dishwasher, after, because it’s something to do, and it stops him thinking about the fact that he’s had that pint of water and a big glass of orange juice on top of the coffee. But it’s getting trickier. He realises he’s shifting from foot to foot as he rinses yolk off breakfast plates, wishes that the sound of the tap wasn’t directly wired to his fucking bladder.

 

He feels it creeping, feels how full he is now, the way that he’s suddenly aware of every single movement, of every breath in. The way it feels magnified ten-fold by the fact that he’s never, ever done this with anyone around before. 

More than anything, he wants to slink off somewhere private, rub himself off a bit ‘til he’s nice and hard, precum just beginning to bead at the top of his cock, then gradually let go ‘til he’s pissing through a stiffy into his joggers. 

Even the thought of doing it alone makes his face flame – but the thought that Merlin knows, that they’re going to tell Harry, fucking Harry, makes his breath stick in his lungs.

He trusts Merlin, and that’s the only thing between him bottling it and sneaking out just in case he’s wrong and Harry thinks he dreadful and this whole – thing – comes crashing down.

But Merlin wouldn’t let that happen, and he’s seen Harry’s cupboard of tricks. He ain’t exactly conventional, and if he don’t actually like it, chances are he’ll say something sweet and yeah, Eggsy will then physically explode due to shame, leave weird flecks of himself all draped over the taxidermy, but at least it’ll be over. 

He wishes that Merlin would bloody hurry up though, because it is beginning to absolutely cane, and he’s not sure how long he can keep his face neutral for.

But Merlin goes on saying nothing, laying out the silver teaspoons ‘cos they’re overdue a polish and apparently that’s something the hardest working Kingsman quite fancies spending his limited downtime on. Nutter.

It’s Harry who looks up, at the point where Eggsy leans over the sink to get something and lets out a little hiss as the counter presses against his stomach. 

‘Is there something wrong with the bathroom?’ he asks, as if he hadn’t been for a slash before breakfast.

‘Yeah. S’got a fucking dead dog in it.’ Eggsy is extremely fond of Mr Pickles, and sometimes lifts JB up to look at him, contemplate his fate if he’s being a menace, but he loves getting a rise out of Harry.

‘Not aesthetically. Practically.’

‘Nah, mate.’

Eggsy doesn’t look at him, finishes the drying.

‘Then why are you...?’

‘Prancing around like a ballerina at warm-up?’ Merlin supplies, not looking over.

‘I was going to use a cricketing analogy, but the point stands.’

‘Wanted to give you a little welcome home gift, innit.’ Eggsy says, and lets his gaze come up to meet Harry’s.

There’s a little pregnant pause, then. Stillness in the kitchen. Harry’s a spy, he’s literally definitely got to have worked this out, nothing ever actually surprises him, Eggsy suspects, so why would this?

And there it is. The penny drops, so clear he can see the second Harry takes a breath in. His eyes go all soft and surprised, and the he grins, toothy and delighted, that proper Harry smile he never lets out at work, only when he’s too happy to bother thinking about how he looks.

‘Bloody hell,’ he breathes out, looking like he’s just seen the eighth wonder of the world.

‘Like Berlin?’ He says to Merlin. He’s still smiling like he can’t help himself, voice gone all low and soft.

‘Well’, Merlin says, ‘I think they had significantly invested in their infrastructure.’

‘I have been gone almost a week, you know’ Harry says mildly, ‘you might have built a latrine at the back of the garden.’

‘Fucking Hell, Harry,’ bursts out of Eggsy’s throat before he’s got time to reign it in. 

Merlin laughs, dry in his throat. ‘Don’t scare him.’

Harry stands up from the breakfast table, takes two steps forward, so that he’s close to Eggsy, close enough to reach out, wonderingly, and lay one hand gently over his stomach, and he ain’t looking half so calm and collected now.

‘How long… how long have you been holding for?’ 

‘Since five-ish. Merlin gave me coffee at six, ‘bout three cups, and then you got home, I had the water, orange juice…’ Feels himself trailing off, so unsure about what Harry gets out of this that he doesn’t know what tack to take. 

Plumps for absolute honesty, though, seeing as it’s got him this far. And it ain’t put on, his voice really is a bit full with it, it really is a bit fucking embarrassing.

‘I’m so desperate, Harry. So if you wanna tell me about Berlin, or like, what you’re into, whatever, make it quick yeah, because we ain’t got long until it’s coming out, you get me?’

And then Harry leans in, tips Eggsy’s face towards him and kisses him. His tongue licks over Eggsy’s lips, and his mouth tastes like toast, and tea, and ain’t it just the loveliest thing, something else for his body to latch on to, more sensation – until Harry pushes his palm down, firmly, right over his bladder.

Eggsy mewls like a kitten, feels white-hot pressure and his whole body wants him to just relax, just go, right there in the middle of the kitchen, Harry’s lips on his.

‘Oh fuck, Harry.’ And it’s instinct that makes him turn to Merlin, who is watching them both but still rubbing the spoons in silver dip. ‘Merlin, m’gonna go, I’m so full. Can’t hold it that much longer.’

Harry looks at him and bites his lip, resting his face just under Eggsy’s jaw. He seems to have lost the ability to speak, and his fingers are fretting at the bottom of Eggsy’s t-shirt. 

Merlin catches his eye, then. ‘Harry, I’m going to tell Eggsy what you like. If you think I’m getting it wrong, I’m trusting you to interrupt me. Doesn’t have to be verbal.’

Harry nods.

‘Anytime you like, guv’, Eggsy grinds out, and the delicious humiliation that spills over him feels sweet and heavy as treacle. This whole fuckin’ situation is too much, ain’t it, but here he is and he wouldn’t swap it.

‘He likes to feel it. Likes it on him, when someone lets go and he’s in the way. Likes being – well, likes feeling that there’s not much consideration given to him, in that moment.’

‘Clothed or naked, Harry babe?’ Eggsy croons into his ear. ‘You want me to ruin one of them pretty suits when I lose it, yeah?’

And Harry groans, a sound so deep and sudden it seems to have come from the very centre of him, and he pushes his hips, wanton and needy, against Eggsy. Christ, he’s hard as diamond.

Merlin continues, tone betraying nothing, but Eggsy glances round at him and there’s heat in his eyes.

‘Berlin was back when was I still did fieldwork. Underground club, no demarcations on the doors. Ended up in the room with - I think we left that suit in a bin, didn’t we Harry? That took a bit of explaining.’

Eggsy whistles under his breath. ‘Bet you liked that, didn’t you? All those people, nobody caring if you got soaked.’

Harry’s shaking, gently, like he can’t control himself. 

Eggsy soothes a hand up and down his back. He wants to ask Merlin about every single detail of it, because the images behind his eyes are so fucking hot that his prick is absolutely fat in his trackies now, and it helps, actually, makes the desperate urge to pee just a shade fainter.

Instead, he pets at the back of Harry’s neck, shifts his weight again, right there in the middle of the kitchen, and says ‘Weren’t ever gonna tell you, to be honest, only I fucked up last night. Pissed all over your fancy velvet sofa an’ had to call your husband for help.’

Harry whines, frots against Eggsy’s leg, takes one hand and slips it under the waistband, rests it, curling, on his thigh. 

‘Eggsy, darling’, he manages, dark and thick as treacle.

‘I wanted to rub his face in it, to be honest.’ Merlin remarks, and it’s that information, the searing fucking obscenity of it that makes Eggsy feel like he’s going to lose control.

His skin feels electric, every sensation magnified. Harry’s breath on his neck makes him shiver, and he can feel his heartbeat thumping in his ears. 

‘Merlin, please. I want to go.’ And he does, desperately, want to stop holding. He can feel the need pricking every hair on his neck, running in waves down his thighs.

He’s not quite at wetting stage – he knows that. Desperate, but like, he’d probably pull of another half hour before he actually pissed himself. Half an hour of this, though, fizzy, exhausting tension. And he wants to see Harry’s face when he gets him all wet and filthy. 

‘Want to, or need to, Eggsy?’

And yeah – of course Merlin understands that subtle little line. That’s the thing though – the way the game goes when he’s alone, yeah, he usually waits ‘til he’s so horny and desperate he can’t stand it, wanks off, then absolutely pisses everywhere, usually in the shower, sometimes into his briefs if he’s feeling – well – if it’s private and he’s got the time. 

But he doesn’t want that, now, doesn’t think he can stand to wait until he actually pisses himself. 

That feels – well, fucking hot – but Harry’s mewling and actually fucking shaking and yeah, that’s arousal but he’s also probably sleep deprived, and there’s this thought in Eggsy’s mind that won’t let go, him actually deciding to wet himself, deciding to just fucking let himself stop holding, make himself go – and it’s making him see white sparks round the edges of his eyes.

‘Want, Merlin, please, want to…’ and then he stops, brain racing as he works out exactly what the fuck he does want. 

‘Merlin, I want….’ only he can’t say it. Can’t force those words out past his lips, feels like it’ll all get too real, too fucking dirty to actually speak.

‘Out with it, now, you’re being so good for me.’

‘Please, Merlin, God. Well, it… I wanna wet myself, but like, do it when you say and how you say and – and – and wanna do what you want.’

And yeah, it all comes out one big rush and he’s speaking about one inch above a whisper and mostly into Harry’s temple but if Merlin asks him to repeat it he reckons he’ll actually physically die. 

 

‘What I want, eh? Want to please me?’

There’s a pause, and Eggsy feels that thrill he gets when he can’t quite parse Merlin’s tone. When there might be danger. 

‘Well, Eggsy. I think I like you desperate. Look at you, shifting your weight. You must be so full by now, and I bet Harry wriggling against you isn’t helping. And aye, I’d like to see you actually piss yourself sometime. Tie you up, maybe, watch you lose it right onto the bed.’

‘Christ, Merlin’, comes Harry’s voice from the crook of Eggsy’s neck.

‘But right now? I don’t think I’m patient enough for that, and I don’t think Harry is either, are you?’

The whine in Harry’s throat is actually pained.

‘Well then. Would you like to wet yourself, Eggsy? Pee in your joggers, not even trying to hold it in? All over Harry, just because I tell you to? I think you would.’

Eggsy nods, mute.

‘Upstairs bathroom, please. Harry, take off anything you don’t want dirty.’

Suddenly, it feels overwhelmingly real. He looks at Merlin, swallows. 

‘Fuckin’ hell Merlin, you dirty bastard.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last update is here! Never let it be said I don't tend toward vast amounts of smut!! Thank you all so much for reading and being interested in this, the kink train to dirty town.
> 
> As ever, let me know how you feel!


	4. The Upstairs Bathroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone finally gets what they came for: Harry gets wet, Merlin gets to watch and Eggsy... well, Eggsy lets go.

Harry won’t get off him, so he turns and kisses him, open mouthed and dirty, pets at the hair at the base of his neck where he’s already sweating, little curls coming loose. They manage up the stairs together, Eggsy with a hand curled round Harry’s neck.

They get into the bathroom and Eggsy flicks the heater on, a couple of the low lights. If the desperation wasn’t so loud in his head he’d be nervous, but as it is he’s so strung out all he can feel is his half-hard cock, the heat building behind it, the way his brain keeps jerking his awareness back to it. God, he wants to piss.

‘You gonna take anything off?’ He asks Harry. Harry toes his slippers off, but that’s it. He’s in a soft shirt, a pretty pale blue that suits him, and beige slacks. House clothes. 

There’s no time for a suit, and Eggsy’s sad about it, in a way, but these will mark up lovely.

And he’s still got his socks on, which for some reason goes straight to Eggsy’s dick. 

‘Christ, Harry. Never thought I’d actually get to do something like this.’

‘I’ve thought about it.’ Harry says, quiet. ‘Quite a lot, actually. Watched you, once, through the two way mirror in the training dormitory.’

He’s panting slightly, curls in his hair, face pink, looking absolutely fucked out even though he’s barely been more than kissed.

‘You dirty perv. You wank off, watching me having a slash?’

Merlin slips through the door. 

‘Came all over my office floor, more like it. Two fingers in him, that’s all it took.’ His tone is fond, his hands on Harry’s back, stroking.

‘Into the bath, both of you.’

There’s a pause. Eggsy’s blood is pounding in his ears, and he’s got that heat running through his cock that means he’s so, so close.

‘Towels, Merlin. Hard bath ain’t no good for Harry’s knees.’

Merlin makes a little noise in his throat that means that Harry’s knees would be absolutely fine and that Eggsy is the soppiest boy who ever lived, but he hands Eggsy a couple of towels, lets him pad the bottom of the bath then climb in.

‘You just want to piss on them, don’t you?’

Eggsy can’t even smart-mouth him back, he’s too busy trying not to die of embarrassment as his cock twitches, visible in his trackies, and Merlin smirks at him.

Harry’s curled round Merlin like a boa constrictor, kissing him slow and dirty, hips moving almost unconsciously against his thigh. 

‘Into the bath, Harry, or he’ll start wetting himself without you.’

He raises an eyebrow at Eggsy as he says it, confirms that, of course, Eggsy will do no such thing, but the threat makes Harry move.

‘Where d’you wanna be, love?’ Eggsy asks, and Harry kneels up against him, face resting against his thigh. 

And like, he did know this was happening, knew this was the logical conclusion of telling Merlin, who never does anything half-arsed, but it still feels too real now, proper scary. He knows Harry wants it but it feels a bit… off, pissing all over someone he loves.

Or, like, it should feel off. He feels like he shouldn’t want to do it. Shouldn’t get that heat up his spine like he used to get when he’d piss his briefs, just a little bit, feeling it leak out whilst liquid fire ran up his spine. 

Used to press his face into them after, sometimes, nose in the wet patch whilst he wanked himself off. He wants Harry to do that, this time.

And yeah, he can’t look too close at this, in case he realises how fucking perverted it is and bottles it.

‘You wan’ it?’

Harry nods against his leg. Looks up at him. 

‘Yes, please, darling boy.’

‘You better be sure, because fuckin’ hell I’m desperate. I can feel it comin’, Harry, and once it starts I ain’t gonna be able to stop it.’

Harry groans. Merlin, who is sitting on the edge of the bath, one hand on Harry’s back, looks up at Eggsy.

‘Tell him how it feels, pet.’ 

He’s not sure he’s got the words to describe it, but he’s gonna do his best for Merlin, whose eyes are fixed on him.

‘God, Harry. It’s like the slightest breeze would start me going. Cock feels nice, bladder so fucking full. It’s like, I need to go, and my brain wants me to get my cock out, piss in the loo. But I know what Merlin wants, and you, and like, I want it too. To like … wet myself, just here, not even bother, just go all down my trackies, like…’ He trails off, keeps his eyes on Merlin but his mouth runs dry.

When Merlin speaks his voice is heavy, just a trace of breathlessness.

‘You look a state, Eggsy. Good and desperate. You’re going to let go now, ok? You’re going to wet yourself, piss your trousers, probably get Harry soaked, aren’t you? Naughty boy. Dirty, naughty boy, wetting in your pants like you don’t know better, all because you’re so good for me.’

And it’s that that sets him off. Merlin’s lovely deep voice, speaking the same filth that runs through his head when he does this in private. 

‘Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, here it comes, fuck, fucking hell.’

The syrupy feeling of desperation crystallises, comes to a point, and then he breathes out, doesn’t tighten up against the wave. Instead, he can feel the heat run down his dick, everything tingling, every instinct telling him not to wet, not to let go.

And then it happens. The first few drops spurt out of his half-hard cock, pool against the fabric of his trackies, soaking the grey marl. Little dark spots, right beside Harry’s face. 

‘Ugh, fuck, Merlin, m’pissing.’

The second spurt is longer, feels so close to coming that he screws his eyes up. The hot piss runs down his leg, soaks the fabric, which starts to cling round his dick. He can feel the piss becoming a steady stream.

He can hear it hissing, loud in the quiet of the room, and it feels so dirty, so naughty and wrong, that his dick’s hardening even as he’s going.

Harry mewls when the stream his him, rubs his face into Eggsy’s wet leg as if by instinct, mouthing at the wet cotton.

Eggsy’s whole world narrows down to that intense relief, the hot wet hissing, the feel of Harry’s mouth through the trousers. He shoves a hand into his trackies, lifts his cock out, still pissing, and holds it so the stream runs down the outside instead, so he can see it. 

‘So much, Merlin, it’s still coming, I can’t stop it…’

‘You’re a good boy, aren’t you?’ Merlin says, low, guiding him through it as he lets go. ‘Letting it all out for me, pissing yourself for me. Good, dirty boy.’

He glances down. Sees the piss coming out of him, full hard stream, down over Harry’s hair, the back of his neck, darkening his shirt in drips, making wet tracks down his back.

‘Look how wet Harry is. Ruined that shirt, ain’t I?’ and his voice is low with the sheer filthy wonder of it.

‘Harry, love. You’re filthy, covered in Eggsy’s piss. You want to touch yourself?’

‘Merlin, please,’ Harry manages, and his hand goes straight to his flies, unbuttons them and takes himself in hand. Eggsy knows he’s meant to be ignoring Harry, that he gets off on it, but it’s so hard when he’s right there, beatific smile on his face whilst he’s sticky with Eggsy’s piss. 

He makes do with shifting his grip so that his stream – and holy fuck, how’s he still pissing – hits Harry’s hand, spills hot over the head of Harry’s cock, soaks his trousers, makes the fabric shiny with it.

And Harry looks up at him then, face damp, shirt soaked, and he looks absolutely wrecked. Ruined. It might be the happiest Eggsy’s ever seen him, that slightly distant smile he gets when he’s properly floating. 

He’s wanking himself off, the piss making his grip slippery, and all Eggsy has to do is say ‘Harry, fuckin’ hell, you’re gorgeous,’ quietly, without even meaning to – and Harry comes, wet white splashes over his hand, over his ruined trousers.

Eggsy’s too far gone to stop pissing, and all he can do is groan. The desperation is lessening now, his stream slower, and the pleasure that’s building isn’t piss-pleasure any more, but the sharper, deeper feeling of arousal. And fuckin’ hell is he turned on.

Then Harry lets his head fall back against Eggsy’s soaking trousers, lets the last soft hisses of piss trickle down Eggsy’s thighs and then, before Eggsy can do or say anything, or even look at Merlin, Harry lifts his head, kneels up slightly and takes Eggsy’s cock in his mouth.

Legit, Eggsy thinks this might be the moment he dies. His brain can’t quite make the switch between desperate and sprung, but his dick’s not having the same bother, and he can’t believe Harry’d have that in his mouth but fuckin’ hell it’s hot and wet and perfect and Harry’s tongue is quick and firm over his head.

‘Ain’t gonna last, Merlin, please…’

‘That’s it, Harry. Make him come in his dirty joggers,’ Merlin says, quiet behind him. Eggsy makes himself look, open his eyes, and sees Merlin’s hand down his own trousers, stripping himself off quick and firm.

‘Fuck, Merlin, please,’ he manages, hoping Merlin will know what he needs.

‘That’s it, Eggsy. Good boy. You were so good, weren’t you, wetting yourself for me, pissing all over Harry. Filthy, dirty boy, that’s it, let go for me now, come in Harry’s mouth for me.’ He’s muttering nonsense, low and obscene, and Harry’s clever mouth is insistent, and that’s all it takes.

Eggsy’s orgasm hits him like a bullet train, hot and white and blinding, great long arcs of pleasure bending through him as he spills into Harry’s mouth. Comes all shuddery and long, and some of it spills over Harry’s pretty lips, down over his chin.

Merlin’s not far behind, comes with a bitten-off noise and a whoosh of breath as Harry licks Eggsy clean.

Everything feels a little bit woozy after that, floaty and weird. Merlin helps them strip off, run the taps for an actual bath, sticks stuff in the wash. 

Harry’s quiet and pliant and sweet, lets Eggsy lazily shampoo his hair, kisses him and gets soap in his mouth.

Eggsy don’t say much, either. Feels easier not to, nicer to stay in the warm, fuzzy zone, let Merlin hand him a clean towel, let him be stern about his pyjamas.

Merlin doesn’t sleep beside them often, but he gets in beside Eggsy as he’s dozing off.

‘You did so well, Eggsy. Did you enjoy it?’

Eggsy thinks he answers, though it might just be an enthusiastic slurring. He remembers Merlin kissing him, light on the mouth, Harry warm at his other side, and then he drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all, so much, for coming on this joyful smut-journey with me. Please leave any further ws related desires in the comments, and I will see what I can do. xx

**Author's Note:**

> Anything good in this fic is inspired by and indebted to the extraordinary series 'Bespoke' by Violet Smith and Deep Dark Waters (I do not know how tagging works! But go and look the series up!) and to LelithSugar's beautiful Surface Tension.


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